Seul Avec Les Chiens
by BeachSpirit
Summary: When Will is called out of town, Hannibal decides that he has a social obligation to look after Will's dogs. Oops. Hannigrammy (also on AO3)


Baltimore is being hit by one of the worst storms of the last fifty years. The vicious wind batters houses and power lines, rattling windows and tearing through drafty walls. In many Maryland homes, rain is leaking inside.

Thankfully, Hannibal Lecter's household is neither drafty nor chilly. The thick windows keep noise to a minimum and much of the heat has been kept in the house. His bedroom is especially snug.

Though that may have less to do with his superior heating and more to do with Will Graham lying beside him.

Will's dark curls are splayed across the pillow as he sprawls on his right side, his face relaxed in sleep. Hannibal is pressed close to his back, his forehead against Will's bare shoulder, breathing in his warm, rustic scent. He presses his lips to Will's shoulder blade, savouring his sweet taste.

An infuriating harsh buzzing breaks the still, quiet night.

Hannibal frowns, his dark eyes flitting to Will's alarm clock on the nightstand. It's 3:04AM. He frowns. It was such a shame that Will had managed to piece the plastic clock back together after "the cleaner" had "accidentally" sent it crashing to the floor.

Especially when there was a sleek, glossy clock waiting in Hannibal's desk drawer to replace it.

Will's phone casts a blinding, clinically white glow across the room. As gently as he can, he untangles himself from Hannibal, thinking the man to be asleep.

"Hello?" Will asks groggily.

Hannibal lies still next to him, his right eye, closest to the pillow, cracked open slightly to watch Will. He sees Will's back tense as he sits on the side of the bed.

"Right," Will says into the phone. "Okay, yeah... No, I'll be there soon."

Will hangs up.

"Will?" Hannibal's voice is thick with sleep.

Will turns to him with a sad, apologetic smile.

"That was Jack."

"As I expected," Hannibal sighs, propping himself up on his elbows.

Will slides his legs out of bed and pulls on his pyjama bottoms. He stands and begins throwing things into the overnight bag that's now used more for trips to Hannibal's house than for field work.

Hannibal watches him lazily as he throws clothes into the bag in a way which ensures they will be creased. Hannibal's mouth twitches in disapproval.

Will sighs and types a message on his phone. After he's gotten dressed, he sits beside Hannibal when he's sent it. He stokes a loose strand of ash hair from Hannibal's forehead.

"I have to go," Will sighs.

"I know," Hannibal replies.

"At least you get the weekend, huh?" Will gives a short, false laugh. Hannibal doesn't respond, only smiling slightly as Will presses his lips to his forehead. "I'm sorry."

"I know," Hannibal repeats, sitting up and wrapping his arms around Will, kissing where his neck meets his shoulder.

Wills phone pings. He reaches and picks it up, frowning at it over Hannibal's shoulder.

"It's Alana," he sighs. "She's visiting her aunt in Minnesota, so she can't look after my dogs."

Hannibal closes his eyes and sighs almost inaudibly into Will's hair. He knows what he has a social obligation to say.

"I will," he grits out in the most even voice that he can muster, glaring at a wall.

Will pulls back, looping his arms around Hannibal's neck with a smirk.

"You?" he says, lips twitching in a smile. "You'll look after my dogs?"

"I am perfectly capable."

Will looks at him for a minute, unable to resist grinning at Hannibal's placidly defiant look.

"All right," Will shrugs, disguising a snort as a cough. "You've got my key."

With that he presses lips to Hannibal's and says goodbye.

The key sticks in the lock at Will's house. Hannibal frowns and rattles it. Finally, the door clicks open.

He has come prepared. Hannibal throws chunks of sausage to the mutts currently swarming around his feet in excitement. They remember him.

He sniffs in disgust at the dog food he empties into the bowls. He makes a mental note to bring his own later today.

"Come - along - now-" Hannibal grits out, wrenching the leashes.

The dogs pant happily up at him. Hannibal is seething. His hair has fallen into his eyes and there's mud around his ankles. No amount of furious threats in English had made a difference, and neither had the menacing spurts of Lithuanian that Hannibal reserved solely for total frustration.

He gives up, sagging as the dogs choose to stand happily wagging their tails at his feet.

His phone rings.

"Hello?" Hannibal does his best to sound composed, though he's out of breath.

"Are you OK?" Will asks, concerned.

"Fine," Hannibal seethes with a murderous look at the dogs.

"How are you getting on? You have been to feed the dogs, right?"

"Oh yes," Hannibal can't resist a sarcastic tone. "I-"

"Well, I asked Bev if she'd check up on them at lunch to help you out," Will says, knowing that Hannibal is most definitely not a dog person.

Hannibal looks at his watch. It's 1:15PM.

"I hope you're doing well out there," Hannibal says, suspiciously eyeing a dog sniffing at his shoelace.

"Yeah, should be back soo-" Will begins as a shout in the background cuts him off. "I gotta go," he sighs. "See you soon."

He hangs up before Hannibal can say anything. He's still looking at the phone in his hand when a mountain dog lurches away from him, almost toppling him over.

Hannibal seethes as hoots of laughter echo around the woods.

"You all right?" Bev grins. "I was going to see to the dogs, but it looks like you've taken care of that..."

She looks pointedly at his mud-caked Italian leather shoes.

"Yes, well," Hannibal huffs, annoyed at being seen like this.

It was a real pity that Will liked her so much.

"Let me help," Bev grins, taking half of the leashes and jogging along the trail.

"No," Hannibal snaps, whipping a trailing scarf from beneath the nose of a curious mutt. The dog wags it's tail hopefully with a small whine. They were restrained in a small room off Hannibal's kitchen, with old towels spread over the floor and hastily filled water bowls under the window.

Getting them in there had been exhausting, with Hannibal fearing for the expensive interior of his car for the whole drive from Wolf Trap to Baltimore. The dogs had been in Hannibal's house for two days, ruining the pristine cleanliness of his home and trailing dirt all over his kitchen floor.

Hannibal closes the heavy door and leans his head against it. A small whine is at his feet.

"No," he snaps.

Hannibal glances threateningly at the stove. He looks back down at it. A medium sized, sandy colored mutt.

Will's favourite.

Hannibal sighs and opens the door again, nudging the dogs inside with the toe of his velvet slippered foot.

With a click, the downstairs of his home is quiet and still again.

The weather forecast for Baltimore has gotten worse.

Hannibal pulls the sheets tighter around himself. He is lightly asleep when the front door opens and closes, sounding unnaturally loud in the silent downstairs of Hannibal's house.

Will Graham puts his duffel bag in the kitchen, ready to do laundry tomorrow. He figured that he might as well spend time here as at his own house. A small box of washing powder balancing on top of the bag would ensure that he wasn't being a nuisance.

Hannibal's dark eyes slowly open as Will, as quietly as he can, closes the door behind him. He's carrying a pair of old sneakers in one hand, which he places by the wardrobe. He stands by the bed to remove his glasses. He drops them. With an annoyed tsk, Will bends to pick them up.

A startled laugh escapes him as strong arms wrap around his waist and pull him backwards. He lies with his back on Hannibal's chest, laughing up at the ceiling.

"Good to see you, too," he says, craning his neck to kiss Hannibal.

Hannibal smiles into the kiss as Will rolls off of him and lies next to him instead, tracing a thumb across Hannibal's cheekbone. He is still fully dressed in unintentionally distressed jeans and more horrific plaid. Hannibal chooses to ignore that for now.

Will shrugs off his shirt and pulls off his jeans, folds them and places them at the foot of the bed. He quickly hides under the sheets from the freezing night air, burrowing closer into Hannibal's embrace. Will smiles into the crook of Hannibal's neck and the mans hands roam along his shoulders and down his back, one hand drawing a slow trail from Will's collar bone to his navel.

"Miss me?" Will smirks.

A low growl rumbles in Hannibal's chest in reply, as he pulls Will's waist into his arms tighter.

"I missed you," Will smiles as he presses his mouth to Hannibal's neck.

"You would not comprehend how much I missed you," Hannibal murmurs, his face in Will's hair, inhaling his sweet, musky scent. He had never expected to miss something or someone like this.

"Oh, I think I can," grinning, Will tightens his arms around the other man's neck.

He didn't miss having his dogs in his bedroom that night, nor did he miss Wolf Trap.

For the first time, Will feels a twinge of unease at his surprising contentment in this big, expensive house and all of it's shiny surfaces antiques.

He doesn't know if he should feel so scared. He soaks in the warmth and the familiarity of this bed, and the man beside him.

It's the probably the first time that Will has ever felt 'good' scared by anything in his life. He likes it.


End file.
